#( cw body image. )

[incognitopolls]

We ask your questions so you don’t have to! Submit your questions to have them posted anonymously as polls.

[dingledraw]

Try and shame Aziraphale about their body or their enjoyment of food and Crowley will eat you (◡‿◡✿)

[solarmorrigan]

[cw: weight loss, body image issues/body dysmorphia]

Consider: Steve whose migraines become unmanageable for a while, or who falls into a harsh depressive episode after everything with Vecna, or who experiences reduced mobility or chronic pain due to the many varied injuries he's picked up over the years, or any combination of the above

Steve who loses his appetite and who isn't able to keep up with the workout routine he used to have and who loses weight and loses muscle mass and fucking hates it

He's always been on the lean side, but he hasn't been skinny since probably eighth grade, when he was still gawky and growing into his frame. But this is different; this isn't awkward adolescence, something he'll grow out of, this is the sight of his ribs through his skin and his hipbones jutting out and his wrists getting too skinny for his watch. This is feeling cold all the time and struggling to lift things he used to be able to pick up without much trouble

(It's fear, too. Not just a fear that he'll never get back to where he used to be, but fear that something will happen and he'll be too weak to stop it. Too weak to help. Too weak to protect anyone the way he should)

There are days he can't quite stand looking at himself; can't stand the sight of baggy clothes that used to fit perfectly, can't stand looking at tired eyes staring out of the sharpened angles of his face. He feels insubstantial this way. Like anyone could look right past him - right through him

Eddie never does, though. He never treats Steve differently, except to worry about his health - but never what he looks like. He hugs Steve as tightly as before, kisses him just as hard as before, whistles at him when he catches Steve in the middle of dressing, just like before. Like he isn't disappointed that Steve doesn't look good anymore, like he isn't even bothered

He'll hold Steve, and pull him close on bad days, and he'll let Steve be upset, but he'll never stand for Steve speaking badly about himself. He'll always push back, sometimes gently, sometimes loudly, always reminding Steve that he loves him, and what he looks like is a part of that. Reminding him that Eddie loves it all

"But you can gain it back, if you want to. When you're doing better," Eddie tells him

"What if I'm never doing better? What if I can never get back to where I was?" Steve demands. "What if this is just my body now?"

"Then it is." Eddie kisses his shoulder, his neck, his cheek. "Then I'll help you learn how to love it as much as you did before. As much as I still do."

And he says it so openly, so honestly, that even on bad days, Steve thinks that maybe - maybe he could be okay

[felassan]

The Art of Dragon Age: The Veilguard Deluxe edition (DA:TV artbook bonus stuff). [source, via]

"The deluxe edition features: - An elegant foil-stamped slipcase and cover - Gilded pages - A ribbon book marker - Two lithographic art prints housed in a sleek portfolio" [source]

It looks like the two lithographic prints are this mural (which is from the 2020 TGA teaser iirc) and this art of Solas with a wolf by Matt Rhodes (which is from the Gamescom 2020 video iirc). The packaging's color theme-ing is black and gold, reminding of this version (that pic is from 2021) of the game's branding/color theme-ing, and also of course bringing to mind the Golden/Black City. the Golden/Black City was featured on the vinyl cover arts.

The knife here on this cover looks like the 'blue lyrium' [?] dagger, but also simultaneously not like it.

This artbook cover one is more gnarled in appearance and the 'ring' of the handle isn't complete (the way the 'broken' handle could almost be an Evanuris headpiece-shape... if it was a bit more symmetrical, it would look like Elgar'nan's headpiece).

It has extra spiky bits protruding off it too and it looks like something is growing on it. Maybe this is what happens if/when the blue [lyrium?] dagger becomes red (Blighted)? because this gnarled kinda vibe reminds me a bit of Meredith's sword Certainty in DA2, and of that body horror way in which red lyrium growth looks on people. It also reminds me of the tendrils of Blight corruption on walls and the ground and stuff in DA:TV screenshots, and the gnarled red lyrium darkspawn we've seen (look at this darkspawn's back for example).

Or maybe there's simply more than one dagger? There's two rising Evil Gods.

in the background of that image is the now-familiar geometric patterning with the concentric rings around the outside that tend to represent the Veil, and also the multiple almooost-overlapping circles/spheres inside that is suggestive of an eclipse* (something which we can see in the DA:TV screenshot with the dragon, which keeps coming up, which speaks to a lot of the pertinent imagery/symbolism e.g. Elgar'nan overthrowing his father the Sun and darkening the sky, and something which to me makes sense in a Witcher-style Conjunction of the Spheres kinda vibe, multiple realms colliding, like, if you tear down the Veil, you're bringing two 'bodies' or realms together to 'overlap' once again - the Fade and the waking world). [*in the 'eclipse' link there it's just searching the word on my blog btw, since I've banged on and on about that lots before and I don't wanna repeat myself loads in this post hhh]. the placement of the dagger over that design and what it represents makes sense; as we saw in the gameplay reveal video, the dagger was part of Solas' ritual to tear down the Veil/move the Evanuris prison.

On this cover, we can see two eyeballs in two of the corners (the eyes remind me of the Inquisition hairy eyeball, the eye motifs cropping up around Lucanis, Pride, and the Fade peacock feather/eye motif [image from this post]). in the other two corners is a sword that reminds again of Certainty. Meredith brandishing the sword is part of this DA:TV mural in the bottom left, underneath Ghil. surely not a coincidence. :D maybe a Certainty-like sword is the final corrupted form of the dagger, or one of them? in TN, the red lyrium idol changed shape enough that a ritual-blade sprang from its base.

the background of this middle cover also contains triangles, reminding of ancient elven artifacts and ancient elven magic-tech (like with Bellara, the Veil Jumpers etc) and the recurring triangle symbols in DA art around Fade/Veil/magic-y stuff (example from the Tevinter Nights map below).

The cover on the right has more geometric patterns, circles, rings etc. (all these patterns remind of the art in the vinyl booklet btw). and, in the center, the eye again. 👁️

[0m3n-0f-d3ath]

Gods favorite idiot has a nightmare<3

A little less then two months and 180 frames🐠

[teaboot]

So I've been trying to buy pants and it reminded me that everything is sized so small and I got angry again because

BEHOLD: AN OBESE PERSON

[tawaifeddiediaz]

(or, really, zee thinks she’s funny) (pt 7)

[tweet credit]

[Image ID: two gifs of Eddie Diaz and Evan Buckley in 911 episode 7.01, Abandon 'Ships.

GIF 1: Eddie, shirtless, sliding his denim button-down shirt on as he tells Buck that it isn't his first date, it's Christopher's.

GIF 2: Buck has his back turned towards Eddie as he watches him from the side of his eye, ducking his head as he laughs, putting his watch on his left wrist. He tilts his head towards Eddie to say "Oh no." teasingly. Overlaid is a tweet by @/alexius_sc2, reading, "her body was tea and i was the fucking british east india company."

/end ID]

[smiuffzo]

MORE WHITEBOARD STUFF MORE WHITEBOARD STUFF ((ily doai whiteboard))!!! SITCOM EDITION!!

[melmoros]

"grief is an amputation, but hope is incurable hemophilia: you bleed and bleed and bleed." - david mitchell, slade house

[lucabyte]

cleaned up NoHats doodle from the middle of the original discussion because i think its important to understand in what tone of voice @samhainian and i are saying

[riality-check]

cw: discussions of body image

After everything, Steve gets softer.

Eddie spends so much time around him that he doesn't even realize it's happening, not until he's looking through his version of the photo album Jonathan put together toward the end of summer '86 so he could give it to Nancy and Robin and everyone else before the graduating class headed their separate ways.

He looks at it on an August day in 1987, about a year or so after Jonathan shyly handed them out. It's hot as balls outside, and while the AC in the trailer makes a lot of noise, it doesn't make a lot of cold, so it's hot as balls inside, too. Eddie ties his hair up with a purple scrunchie he stole from Nancy last week, and as he's looking at a page in the photo album, he stops.

It's a picture of Steve lounging by the pool, sunglasses on, blissfully unaware of Max and Erica in matching blue bathing suits standing behind him, poised to dump a bucket of water on him. Eddie remembers how Steve chased them down after, soaking wet, and threw them both into the pool without a single shred of hesitation.

He remembers Nancy's knowing look as he flushed from his face all the way down to his chest, thinking very not-PG thoughts about Steve being so strong, and he remembers shaking his soaking wet hair at her to make her shriek.

But, obviously, he didn't remember how Steve looked then. He's been superimposing the version of Steve he knows now onto the one that existed then. Casualty of spending nearly every day with him after the Spring Break from Hell.

Steve, in the summer of 1986, was so skinny.

Not rail thin like Eddie was. Not even close. He's always been broad, always muscular, but in that picture of him lounging on the chair with his arms above his head, shirtless and wearing a pair of swim trunks with the periodic table on them - a gag gift from Dustin that he actually ended up using - Eddie can see the definition of his stomach, his arms, his chest.

He looks good in the photo, but, then again, Steve could wear a potato sack and roll around in a pig sty, and Eddie would still think he looks good.

"What are you looking at?" a voice says from the doorway.

Eddie looks up to see Steve, 1987 Steve, the Steve he knows now.

He's got his arms crossed around his chest, looking at Eddie with a fond sort of smile. His glasses - which he refused to get until Robin dragged him to the optometrist - are perched on his nose, and he's barefoot and shirtless, having just thrown on a pair of shorts after getting out of the shower.

And Eddie realizes that Steve now, in the year since, has gotten softer.

He remembers reading, once, that really strong people don't have super defined muscles. Whatever book he found that in acknowledged that it was counterintuitive, but that fat supports muscle. The two have to exist, side by side, and a muscular body without fat is a body under stress.

Steve in 1986 was under stress. Eddie realizes, and a sort of warm relief floods his chest when he does, that Steve in 1987 isn't under stress anymore.

He's still strong and broad. Always has been, probably always will be. But where there was definition in his stomach last year, there's a little bit of squish now. His biceps have gotten bigger, too, as have his thighs.

Eddie is torn between wanting to bite him and wanting to squeeze him and never let him go.

"Jon's photo album," he says instead, and Steve traverses the general clutter of clothes, music sheets, and cables on the floor of Eddie's room to get to his bed.

He sits down next to Eddie, and Eddie can't resist wrapping an arm around his waist and squeezing, pulling him into his side.

Steve, as always, complies.

Eddie doesn't flip the page in the book. He lets Steve look at the page of pictures from Max's birthday, then watches as his eyes land on the picture of him.

Eddie watches him frown and decides that, nope, they're not doing that today.

Steve has told him, vaguely, about some of the stuff he was pressured into doing for sports. About cutting calories and vigorous exercise, about how soreness and hunger were viewed as prizes instead of pain.

He mentioned, once, how he was glad he never did wrestling because he was pretty sure it would have made it all a hell of a lot worse.

And to think Eddie used to hate jocks before dating Steve.

"You're hotter now," he says without any preamble, and while he probably should have started this conversation differently, it's worth the surprised laugh Steve lets out.

"You're just saying that," he says, and Eddie can't let that stand.

He puts the photo album on the bed and climbs into Steve's lap, holding his face in his hands.

"I'm not," he says seriously. "You're hot all the time. Probably always have been, definitely always will be."

It's true. Eddie's miserable crush on Steve during his first senior year, when Steve had that awful haircut was the subject of much good-natured bullying from Gareth, Jeff, and Archie, as well as bonafide proof that, unfortunately, he could not choose who to have a crush on.

"But I love whatever version of you I have in front of me the most," Eddie continues. "So, you're hotter now."

Steve smiles. it's a timid smile, one that Eddie thinks doesn't suit his face. Steve is a confident guy at his core. Timid smiles look like he's trying on a too-small Halloween costume.

"You mean it?" he asks.

"Of course I do," Eddie says, kissing him once on the forehead. "You're always warm, you're strong as hell, you give amazing hugs, and you make me feel safe."

"Safe?"

"Yeah. You feel safe. Like home."

Steve's face breaks out into a grin, one that's more confident, one that suits his face better, and he kisses Eddie once, slow and sweet.

And if Eddie loves holding and being held by Steve, well, that's no one's business but theirs.

And if Eddie's favorite place to be is laying with his head in Steve's lap, cheek pressed to his stomach as he falls asleep, well, they don't need to say anything about it.

[kaceyrps]

MAIA REFICCO in PRETTY LITTLE LIARS; SUMMER SCHOOL

[smalltimidbean]

Blast of Many Little Guys Upon You;

[i-drop-level-one-loot]

🎃 Good enough to Eat

Licking CW: bound reader, abduction, body worship (receiving), teasing, drugging, dub-con, body image issues

The reflection in the mirror glared at their body, turning in circles to fully appreciate how bad they looked in this outfit. It was such a stereotypical thing to do that (Reader) felt ashamed, but that didn't stop them, not when their skin was squishing out over the top of their jeans. Their best friend was waiting in the living room for them to hurry up, but every shirt they put on laid weird on their body, even their favorite band tee. It was just going to be one of those days.

(Reader) left the bathroom mopey, struggling to look happy. Their attempt failed completely when Vince pulled out his phone to take a picture of them.

"Not today V."

"What? Why?! We never get to hang out anymore, and I want some pictures of us." The man whined, jokingly pouting to hide his real disappointment.

"I'm just..." (Reader) tugged on their shirt subconsciously, "not feeling it."

Vince's eyes narrowed, his joking demeanor fading into an empty glare (Reader) had never seen before, worrying them. "I can't do this. I wanted to do this the right way, but you're pissing me off."

Before (Reader) could question their friend he shoved his fingers into their mouth, pressing a bitter tasting pill into their throat and forcing it down. They tried to jump back, but Vince held (Reader's) head, clasping their mouth shut until they swallowed and holding them still until it kicked in. First their muscles grew heavy, then (Reader) couldn't hold their eyes open, collapsing into Vince's arms.

(Reader) woke up hours later, completely naked and hands chained to the ceiling above them, arms twisted in an angle where they couldn't pull up and dangling just high enough for their toes to touch the floor. In the dark of the cellar, Vince stood in front of (Reader) with his arms crossed, a disappointed look on his handsome face.

"Vince? Where am I...?"

"Mmm.. my house." Vince was uncharacteristically upset, his voice cold and eyes weary with frustration.

"Why-?"

"You know, I had this whole date planned out for us. I was finally going to confess to you." He looked down, rubbing his hands together. "But you're so damn insecure, I know if I told you today that I've been in love with you for the past seven years you wouldn't have believed me."

A strange ache stabbed into (Reader's) heart; a conflicting mixture of his congestion causing it to skip a beat and pain from their anxiety. He was right, they didn't deserve his love. Ignoring the fact that he had just kidnapped them, Vince was the most attractive man (Reader) had ever seen off the big screen.

"Vince, I-"

"So, before I officially confess to you, I need you feeling better about yourself, so you accept me." Vince walked over, a sick smile creeping over his features. "You are so fucking beautiful. I've never met anyone as sexy as you."

"Vince, I'm sorry... If you let me go we can pretend like this never happened.."

He cocked his head. "Why would I want to do that? I finally have you all to myself, and you want me to pretend like I've never had the privilege to see you like this?"

(Reader) sniffled, ashamed, both by how exposed they were and by his sweet talking. "Please stop-"

"You don't believe me.. That really hurts my feelings, (Reader). It was bad enough hearing you criticize the person I love all the goddamn time, but even now you're looking at me like I'm a liar." He pressed his nose against their cheek, inhaling their scent. "Which is so unfair, when you look good enough to eat."

His sharp canines bit into (Reader's) neck as his rough hands caressed their body, rubbing their chest and the spot between their shoulder blades. (Reader) cried out, both in surprise and from pain, before squirming in discomfort as he ran his tongue over his teeth marks.

Vince seemed to enjoy the reaction he got from licking (Reader's) neck, because he moved down, chasing the shivers he was sending down their body. His calloused palms gripped (Reader's) flesh, digging his fingers into their soft body selfishly. His hot muscle left wet trails down (Reader's) goosebumps, greedily tasting their body.

He left hickies from his sucking and biting, bruising their nipples from enthusiasm. Every time he latched on it was hard enough to draw blood, but was quick to soothe the stinging with kisses, cleaning the red droplets with his tongue. Vince ignored (Reader's) pleas and whines, enraptured by the taste he had dreamt of for so long.

"You are so beautiful.." He groaned dreamily, pawing at himself through his pants as he planted butterfly kisses down to (Reader's) hip, turned on by their shudders under his feather soft touches. Sliding into his knees, Vince gazed up at (Reader) with lust. "Please say that you believe me now."

"Vince.." (Reader) was torn between their embarrassment and how good they felt.

His lips attached to their sensitive skin right next to their groin, tickling them. The area was so sensitive to the touch that they arched their spine to get their pelvis away from the teasing kisses, but lost their footing, rocking back into Vince's face.

The man continued licking and kissing everywhere but (Reader's) genitalia, encouraged by their responsiveness. He wouldn't gift them release, not until they felt have much he craved their body.

"Do you believe me now?" His heavy panting against their skin was almost as unbearable as his spider light brushing.

Desperate to be let down, (Reader) whined "Yes! I believe you.."

"Does that mean you'll let me be your man?" Another kiss, closer towards their painful arousal. (Reader's) thighs quivered and butterflies erupted in their belly.

"Yes!"

"Because you know that I love you?" The fluid leaking down (Reader's) leg was licked off hungrily.

"God, yes!"

"And you love me too?"

"Yes! I love you, I love you too, Vince!"

As soon as he got his confirmation, (Reader's) legs were draped over his shoulders.

(Reader's) toes curled as Vince's tongue swirled around their most delicate parts, drinking in their essence. His mouth devoured (Reader), crushing his face with their pelvis, pulling them harder into his jaw, hands on their buttocks pushing them in.

"Vince, I'm gonna cum.." (Reader) pathetically whimpered, feeling his tongue fuck them faster.

A wave a shame followed their climax, insecure suddenly over their orgasm. But that brief thought immediately dissipated as Vince didn't stop, taking all of their juices and continuing his assault on their sensitive nerves, pushing them past the point of pleasure. Tears poured from (Reader's) eyes as they tried to wiggle out of his iron grip.

But Vince continued until he came, pulling away to breathe as he moaned out, staining his jeans. His face returned to the kind looking Vince (Reader) knew and adored, smiling up at (Reader) sweetly as though he hadn't just abducted and assaulted (Reader).

"Thank you for accepting my feelings, gorgeous."

[swifty-fox]

For the bathing prompts, #1 for clegan PLEASE 🙇🏻‍♀️

¹⁾ sitting on the edge of the bathtub and letting them lay their head against your thigh as the fatigue starts taking hold

What they're supposed to do, what their loose orders are is to stay on base. To rest and heal and have medical eyes on them to make sure their wasted bodies weren't about to give out on them.

Gale had been back months before John had, and though he'd regained muscle that John was struggling to catch up to, there was a haunted animal look in his pale eyes that just wouldn't quit. There were bags under his eyes like he hadn't had more than a few hours of sleep since his return. A fact, John knew to be true because the restless paranoia wafting off of Buck like a physical scent was keeping him up as well.

The doctor kept telling him to sleep, he kept telling them "I can't"

I can't, not when my other half lies awake.

So, really, neither of them are sleeping. Neither of them are relaxing and the nurses keep warning John about what stress and starvation did to the heart and poor Buck had gotten smaller than the rest of them. And so when Bucky marches into Chick Harding's office for two weekend passes he's back out before the ink had even finished drying.

He drives them to the nearest inn, somewhere off campus where the doors locked and they had a double-bedded room to themselves. There's a small balcony with squashed but comfortable-looking cushions and two pairs of dressers to match the two beds and through a cracked door John can make out a warmly tiled bathroom with a clawfoot tub dropped in the center like a great contented cat..

Buck, who had gone silent the moment he'd no longer had to act as God-come-home for their flyboys and the new recruits they'd become legend and fable to, sat on the bed slowly removing his cufflinks and staring at his feet. His face, while not particularly concerning in its expression, aches with exhaustion and a quiet melancholy that John felt mirrored in his own chest. They had looked into the horrors and the horrors had looked right back and now they both carried the scars of it with them.

He's fine for now, so Bucky leaves him to his undressing, smoothing a thumb across Gale's forehead as he goes and gets a faint smile in return. He takes his time unpacking their duffels, heads down to charm to the lady of the house into some cucumber and chicken sandwiches made with real saw-dust free bread and scampers back put to the room with his prize.

Gale's still on the bed, stripped down to his undershirt and briefs, sprawled on his back now with one hand over his eyes and the other on the hollow rise and fall of his stomach. Not asleep, but resting at the very least and John takes full advantage of the chance to admire the graceful curve of the other man's body. The delicate just of his wrists, and relaxed put of his flush lips. The smooth jaw that would be stubbled by midnight and the flat downy hair on his thighs and legs.

He was too skinny, wasted muscle and shoulders that were angular where they should be soft and rounded, his collarbones a series of mountains ratner than hills. But he was alive and breathing and free and for the first time in years he's all John's.

He sets the plate of sandwiches and a pitcher of lemonade he'd gotten just for the reward of being so handsome - the madam's words not his - on the nightstand and pads into the bathroom. His knees click and his body protests as he kneels in front of the giant tub, and he remembers he too is running on fumes and stubbornness and pure Pilot luck. Running the water he waits for it to heat up before plugging the drain. There's a bottle of something sweet-smelling on a stool by the faucet and he tips it into the churning water experimentally, exclaiming quietly when bubbles smelling of lemon and lavender foam up.

Leaving the tub to its filling he makes his way out to the main room and brushes a soft kiss over the knuckles covering Gale's eyes.

"C'mon doll, lets get some food in you."

Gale makes a soft noise of protest but rises, eyes drooping tiredly and happy to settle against John's side.

They're both silent as they eat, both reverent to the point of religion at the freedom to fill their bellies.

"Real bread," Gale comments.

They each eat two apiece, drink half the pitcher and John kisses the sour-sweet droplets of lemonade from the pillow of Gale's upper lip. Tugs him up gently to be led across the room and into the now steamy bathroom.

"Bucky come on we were going to sleep -" he cuts off, looking at the tub and the popping chromatic bubbles covering the surface like a cloud. His face pinches inwards, brows lowering over his sunken eyes in an aching expression.

"Jesus, John."

Slipping behind him, dragging his hands up the stepstones of Gale's ribs and dragging his shirt with it, John presses a soft kiss to the nape of his neck, "You hate going to bed unclean."

Johns hand is spread across the center of Gale's chest, a soothing slow circle of pressure he knew made Gale melt into relaxing, so he feels clearly the ragged sobbing inhale that shivers through the blonde. But when he looks Gale's face is dry, lips parted just slightly and eyes fixed on the tub.

"I don't want to fall asleep in the bath on you."

"I won't let you slip under, sweetheart."

John slides out from behind Gale, stealing his shirt as he goes and settling on the stool. He toes his shoes and socks off, rolls his army regulation slacks up past his knees so he can stick two feet in the tub and gestures.

"Come on in Major, waters fine."

Gale shakes his head, puffing out a laugh and drags his briefs down his legs.

It's equal parts admiration and grief in how Bucky stares at his lovers body. Wasted from what it once was. Beautiful to him always. He schools his expression into something more neutral when Gale looks up, lifts a hand to help him into the tub without slipping and guides him down into the water.

The delicious groan Gale lets out, lashes fluttering, shoulders and head slumping forward in relief is better than any reward.

"That's good," Gale sighs.

"Yeah?" John whispers, rubbing his hands along the hills of Gale's spine, drags his thumb along the bump of them and massaging his fingers along the nape of Gale's neck until he makes another helpless noise and grows more boneless.

"Y'wanna get in?"

John shakes his head, fingers still working at the tension around Gale's spine, "Naw, enjoying watching you have a good time. You look cute with all the bubbles."

Gale chokes out a laugh, shudders out another one of those awful sobbing breaths. This time his shoulders flinch with it, and the roll through Gale's body like a tidal wave and John makes a noise of concern.

"Hey Buck," he says softly, scritching his nails along Gale's scalp, "Hey my man, my fella."

"It feels so good," Gale repeats, words clicking and wet and young.

Gale wasn't a man who needed coddling, and he certainly wasn't prone to outbursts of emotion and John is loathe to do anything that might put a stop to the release of emotion. So he lets Gale weep, lets him cry out all the poison he'd been carrying around and rubs his back and when he's finally done, bends to press a kiss the center of Gale's spine.

"Tired," Gale mumbles softly, sniffles wetly and the water splashes as he reaches up a hand to rub at his eyes.

"Okay," John says softly, "You wanna get out?"

Gale shakes his head and John hums, plucks at the blonde strands that had fallen out of the careful coif from the humidity.

"Alright," John says, guiding Gale's head to his higher where the other man sighs, nuzzling into his hip and relaxing bonelessly, "I've got you, won't let you slip, doll."

[jhinthorny]

i noticed that i use body shape and hair length as a guide to show what era of edgeworth im drawing so i made a handy lil guide